


In Her Majesty's Service

by squidhat



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 20:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13748541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidhat/pseuds/squidhat
Summary: Between soldiers, some truths did not need to be spoken aloud. Malavai Quinn and Arcann Tirall had come to Yavin 4 to kill Theron Shan; there was no need for further discussion.





	In Her Majesty's Service

**Author's Note:**

> This was a plot idea that wouldn't go away until I wrote it. Special thanks to Defira for listening to me babble about this!
> 
> Also, there needs to be a Arcann/Female Jedi Consular tag.

_Yavin 4, Dusk._

The light wouldn’t allow them to scout for much longer.

Arcann crouched on one of the largest branches of a tall tree, his gloved hands holding his weight, as did the safety line around his waist. He had managed to so fully camouflage himself that Quinn didn’t see him until he was almost on top of him. Arcann had even taken the trouble of applying paint to his eyelids and the bridge of his nose; along with the veil he’d wrapped around his head, and the matching loose clothing upon his body, he could have been a particularly large cluster of leaves from even twenty paces. Only his light blue eyes gave him away.

Quinn scaled the tree, wincing at the pops that his knees made – _damn aging, no wonder they sent younger people into the field_ – and paused on a lower branch. Here, he attached a safety line around his own body, using it to finish his ascent, ignoring the song of his joints when fingers curled around each successive branch. Sliding onto the branch next to Arcann, within arm’s reach of the Zakuulan man, and he curled both legs around it.

Arcann silently offered him a pair of macrobinoculars. Accepting them with a nod, he raised them to his own eyes. Beneath the covering that hid his mouth and chin, he breathed a few loud huffs, caught himself in the act, and steadied the sound. Hopefully, the wind would disguise his transgressions. Through the macrobinoculars, he watched the followers of Zildrog just a mere hundred yards away. For an encampment of cultists, their evening activities seemed normal, even boring. Some ate rations, others talked, there was a small gathering around the refresher building, and a handful of patrolling guards.

There was no sighting, however, of the quarry that had drawn Arcann and Quinn there together.

Quinn shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head in a gesture that indicated that Arcann should follow him. Arcann shook his head in a silent refusal and pointed toward the camp. Quinn nodded and offered the macrobinoculars back, but again, Arcann refused. He instead sat fully on the branch, astride, and rested his back against the wide trunk of the tree.

They had brought with them enough supplies to make camp, but they didn’t dare risk it. The tents and sleeping bags remained packed away and tied to higher branches and tucked in clumps of leaves.  
Reaching into a belt pouch, Arcann pulled out two meal bars. One he handed to Quinn before unwrapping his own; they ate without so much as a sound, not even the crunch of teeth on nutrients. They had brought nonperishable meals for their dinner, but the wrappers of those were meant to be removed in a camp, not up in a tree above the enemy.

Quinn considered his companion even as he finished chewing, shifting position so that he could also sit with his back against the tree. What a strange turn of events, the past year had been. He had once craved seeing the Empress of the Zakuul Alliance on holovids, wept when a camera glimpsed her with her children – their children – and found himself pondering the gulch of the galaxy between them. That morning, he had awoken in a bed still unfamiliar to him, and spent the length of the sunrise watching the play of shadows and light on his Empress’s face and bare back. It was worth it, to miss his usual hour of physical training, to comprehend that, once again, he was by his beloved’s side, and that the children born of that love were sleeping just down the corridor. His family was whole again, and he drew strength from that deep well.

And as for his companion, Quinn had expected to never meet minds with the man. Only at his Empress’s explicit order did he not attack Tirall when they first met; his hand ached to wring the man’s neck for every single day his wife spent in carbonite. Even when Tirall proved his loyalty to the new Empress, Quinn found himself searching in shadows and in sliced computer files for a conspiracy, a hint that the former Emperor would turn.

But no sooner had Quinn departed from his quarters that morning had Tirall greeted him with a datapad and a stone-faced expression. “I’ve found Shan,” he said, his voice its usual rumble. “I suggest we both handle this ourselves. Leave the Empress out of this.”

Quinn found himself astounded, mostly at Arcann’s audacity. They may have both dedicated themselves to the Empress’s service, both in entirely different ways, but they hardly knew one another. Knew about one another, of course; Arcann had begun to train the two princesses in the Zakuulan ways of the Force over a year before, predating Quinn’s arrival on Odessen and his installment as the consort to the Empress.

Protocol dictated that they might discuss the training of the children. Or, if dispatched on a mission together, then that. Otherwise, they weren’t even in the same chain of command. And what else might they even discuss? The Empress had, in a rare moment of mercy – or perhaps out of loyalty to Senya – spared Arcann’s life, even after all of the grief he’d caused the galaxy. She had allowed him to train her children. They had become friends, even.

Quinn would have executed him with a single shot to the back of the head.

But he realized, there in the corridor, staring at the man, that they did in fact have something in common. They hated Shan, both out of loyalty to the same woman, and this…this they could use as common ground.

And in the fact that they both owed the Empress life debts as large as the Iokath gods themselves.

“Very well.” Quinn said, a concession. “Give me an hour to make preparations.”

*****

Between soldiers, some truths did not need to be spoken aloud. Malavai Quinn and Arcann Tirall had come to Yavin 4 to kill Theron Shan; there was no need for further discussion. Had the Empress come along, there would have been discussion. There might have been mercy – the same mercy that she had shown to Arcann and Quinn. Mercy for a friend, mercy for a brother-in-arms, mercy for one that had shared jokes and meals, triumphs and defeats, epic stories and whispered worries.

They perched in the trees as carrion birds. The darkness granted them greater cover, and in those shadows, neither man knew mercy.

They would be missed. Quinn knew that the Empress would notice a swath of cancelled appointments. He would be absent from the evening meal. The children – so observant, so very much like him – would peek into his private study and find nothing but extinguished lights and all of his possessions in their place, neat and tidy. As for Arcann – his mother would miss him. Who else? Ah, yes – the Empress had made mention, the previous day, that Arcann had a romantic partner. Some Jedi. Quinn couldn’t recall her name, but it didn’t matter; their comms had been placed on silent for the inevitable barrage of concerned calls.

The guards moved to greet a visitor at the gates of the camp. Quinn saw a flash of a familiar red jacket through the leaves. Their quarry had, at last, showed himself – but far too late and much too publicly. It didn’t matter. The night could be their friend.

It was time to enact the plan they’d discussed on the way to Yavin 4. Silently disconnecting his safety line, Arcann rolled off of his branch, a hand outstretched and pointed at the ground, using the Force to slow his descent into a silent fall. Quinn had no such talents. He planted his feet against the tree’s trunk and used it to rappel to the safety of the forest floor.

Arcann slipped behind another tree, and set to work immediately, placing a small bomb at the perimeter fence within arm’s reach of his hiding place. Quinn did not stop to watch. He knew his task – to disable whatever craft Theron used to land on the planet. Head down, crouched low, he moved as fast as he dared. He counted on the fact that the guards would be distracted by Theron’s arrival – they escorted him to one of the tents, then chatted as they returned to their posts. The rest of the Zildrog company seemed more intent on sleepy discussion before bedtime, some already heading for the large tents and their bunks within.

Theron’s shuttle stood among the others – smaller, still uttering blasts of steam and bearing dents on every inch of its frame. Quinn had flown that very model before; he knew where its vulnerable wiring lay. Grabbing onto a service panel beneath the ship, he yanked it open, pausing to glance around, to see if anyone had noticed his presence. He found it unnerving that he didn’t see a single soul around the ships – no engineers sent to perform maintenance, and no pilots. Well, if there were any cloaked soldiers, they would attack him upon seeing that he clearly did not belong in the makeshift compound. He took advantage, then, of the time he could find: he drew his utility knife from his belt, butchered the fuel line into ribbons, and followed with the destruction of any wiring he could put his hands upon.

“Bombs are in place.” Arcann’s voice sounded muffled over Quinn’s earpiece.

“Let’s begin.” Quinn slid his knife back into his belt and drew his blaster.

The sound of a massive explosion ripped through the early evening air. Flocks of birds took flight, cawing in offense at the disturbing of their night’s rest. Among the cacophony of screams and shouts came the distinct hissing of lightsabers, activating one after another. Quinn set off at a run, darting between barrels and crates, looking for cover wherever he could and seeking out Theron anywhere that shots rang out.

He started by killing an older human man, followed by a twi’lek Force user that he seemed to have taken by surprise on the way out of the refresher. Looking across the ruined camp, Quinn glimpsed Arcann fighting two of the cultists, with several bodies already at his feet. It was a good sign. But Theron was nowhere to be seen.

Quinn heard a shout, falling to his knees just as the crate stacked at the same height as his head exploded into splinters. His assailant charged with a roar and another spray of blaster fire; Quinn rolled out of the way and onto his knees, drew his knife, and slashed the attacker’s belly. The man groaned, blood staining his robes, and collapsed.

It was then that he sighted Theron sprinting toward his shuttle. “Found him. In pursuit,” Quinn said between panting breaths, getting to his feet and setting off as fast as he could safely manage.

“Go. I’ll be fine.” Over Arcann’s comm, Quinn could hear screams, accompanied by a chorus of a lightsaber’s rapid swings.

Quinn dodged more blaster fire, turned, and dispatched another cultist with a shot to the center of his ridged forehead. Then, back on his intended path, he watched as Theron disembarked the shuttle, starting to sprint instead for the gangplank of another ship parked a mere one hundred yards away. But he would not get even beyond the hull of his shuttle. Quinn fired at him, clipping Shan’s arm with the first shot – but the second tore into the back of the younger man’s leg, sending him sprawling to the ground. Theron’s blaster tumbled from his right hand and onto the grass.

Theron groaned, his uninjured left leg’s knee digging into the ground in an attempt to turn himself over as Quinn approached. He shot out his right hand, trying to retrieve his blaster, but Quinn had his gaze fixed on Theron’s arm, and was well prepared for this attempt at retaliation. The third shot hit Theron in the right shoulder, blood soaking the red fabric of his jacket as he let out a tangled yell.

“Alright, alright, alright. I’m done. I surrender.” Theron’s voice came out in a groan, his good hand raising up and above his head. The right simply lay on the ground, sprouting blooms of blood with every heartbeat.

Quinn placed a boot on the fallen blaster, kicking it well out of reach before he sheathed his own. Then, with one deft movement, he pulled off his helmet and veil, letting both thud down on the grass.

Theron laughed, the peals ending up in pained, quick breaths. “Look at that. The last person I expected to see. Wait, hold on. Did you miss your consort training program or something? You know you can send your lackeys to hunt down traitors, right? Oh, I forgot. Zakuul’s in an economic crisis. You can’t afford lackeys.”

Quinn turned Theron over with a heaving shove, closing his left hand onto the collar of the younger man’s shirt. “You tried to kill my wife,” he snarled out, his pale face reddening with unbridled, uncontrolled rage.

“Temper, temper, Major…uh, excuse me, Your Majesty. Uh, sorry, I’ve been in hiding for awhile – what is your title these days?” Theron said between gritted teeth, his own face a contrast, draining of color as blood seeped from his wounds.

Quinn began to punch Theron before he even realized what he was doing – over and over and over, his knuckles bruising beneath his gloves, then splitting from the abuse. His empress’s face remained in his mind; Theron’s nose broke with a crunch, and then gushed blood. The former Republic spy only laughed in reprisal. At the sound of a lightsaber deactivating, Quinn released him, then stood up straight, his head a few centimeters below the ship’s exhaust module.

“The cultists are either dead or fleeing into the forest.” Arcann took off his own helmet and veil, dropping them down next to Quinn’s. “I’d like to make a suggestion.”

“Let’s hear it.” Quinn stripped off his gloves, jamming them into his belt. The knuckles of his right hand had split, now swelling even as they oozed blood.

“We start with his fingers. Cut off one after another. My lightsaber can cauterize the wounds.”

Theron chuckled as he curled into a ball, knees to his chest. “Telling me how you’re going to torture me? You’re serious? Is this in the Empire military’s SOP or Zakuul’s? By the way, can we talk about how rich it is that the two of you want to kill me for trying to kill the Empress?”

“I can cut out his tongue.” Quinn did not look at Theron; instead, he drew out a tube of kolto salve and began to spread the contents on his knuckles. “It would shut him up.”

“Is this the retirement plan for traitors to Her Glorious Eternal Majesty?” Theron lay a hand on the side of his head, next to his implants – a gesture that Quinn thought odd. “Her own personal brute squad? What’s the pay grade like?”

The large ship, the one which Theron had attempted to flee to, abruptly flared to life, external illumination almost blinding, its engines roaring in what was unmistakably a startup sequence. Above them, the damaged shuttle shuddered and whined, broken but able still to muddle its way into functionality.

“By the way,” Theron said, his voice tight from the pain. “Watch your heads!”

In that moment, Quinn realized what Theron had done. One look at the engine’s exhaust pipe, just centimeters above his head, set his heart leaping within his chest.

“Tirall!” He yelled, the cry strangling in his throat as he turned, arms outstretched, and tackled Arcann. Both fell in a heap just as a wall of fire blasted from the engine, caught on the dripping fuel, and ignited the grass around them with a vengeful roar. Quinn rolled onto his own stomach, scrambling onto his feet. He staggered away from the shuttle, Arcann stumbling at his side, both men barely dodging the spreading fire.

The shuttle’s damaged engine silenced with a loud, angry squeal, but behind them, the fire snapped, catching to the nearby trees with hot, raging flames. Quinn turned, searching for Shan among the walls of fire, but instead he found the world moving, his legs collapsing beneath him to the unmistakable sound of a blaster shot. Arcann snarled, drawing his lightsaber again, and promptly parrying two shots that came in his own direction, each with a hiss and a flash of gold light.

Quinn had been shot before; he found himself pausing to diagnose himself before he even reacted. His ribs screamed, but he could still draw breath in both lungs. Shan had likely missed any major organs. If only he could get his legs under him again, he could –

“No! He’s getting away!” Arcann called out.

Quinn looked down at his jacket, at the blood blooming there and the nasty hole in his side. Cold rather than heat overtook him, and his last thoughts – I’m going into shock. I’ll need a transfusion – faded into complete darkness.

*****

“Senya, tell me – if I wanted to arrest the two of them under Zakuulan law, what law would be most appropriate?”

Quinn half-opened one eye, then, upon seeing that the Empress stood next to him, he allowed it to droop. He felt a soft pillow beneath his head, blankets tucked around his body, and the kiss of cool air upon his bare chest. A vital signs monitor beeped quietly next to him.

“Mm, I think I would charge them both with obstruction of justice,” Senya sounded rather sour. “Depending on the severity of the charge, they could spend up to five years in prison.”

“ _Mother_ ,” said Arcann.

“Don’t ‘mother’ me,” snapped Senya. “What were the pair of you thinking? Theron Shan will go to ground, thanks to your unauthorized guerilla operation. We may never find him now.”

“You can stop pretending to be unconscious.” Empress Zayetana’s voice hardened, one of her scarred hands touching one of Quinn’s. “I saw your life signs fluctuate.”

“You would have given him mercy,” mumbled Quinn, opening both of his eyes. He found that he couldn’t make his voice as strong as he would have liked. “He deserves no mercy for what he did to you.”

He recognized the med bay in which he lay as belonging to the Fury – an odd choice for the Empress, but it wouldn’t draw as much attention, and could be piloted by a single person. Arcann sat on the other bed, shirtless, with multiple bruises and scratches all over his body, but none of them looking serious at a glance. A medical droid quietly took Arcann’s pulse, and noted it on a datapad.

“That’s not your call,” Senya said.

Quinn caught a barbed retort behind his own teeth, one that would remind Senya of her place. If she hadn’t held her opinions in front of _Emperor Valkorion_ , for the Maker’s sake, why would she do so in front of Zayetana, a dear friend and sister-at-arms?

“I would expect this sort of thing out of people with a fraction of your combined military expertise.” Zayetana maintained eye contact with Quinn, her gold eyes fixed on Quinn’s blue ones. Her pale face twisted with rage, her chest heaving with her rapid breaths. “You know better, both of you. Your male bravado has cost the Eternal Throne its enemy – most of all, it has cost me!”

Quinn let his head fall back on the pillow. Never before had he felt so defeated. The pain in his chest, of his faded anger and his foolishness, melded with the latent throb of his healing wound.

“My sincerest apologies, my lo –“ he began.

“Silence,” hissed Zayetana, cutting off his expression of regret.

“Shan is severely injured,” Arcann pointed out, his voice a rumble, but a respectful one. “He will need medical attention, if he didn’t die of his injuries outright. Let me send inquiries to hospitals and medical centers on neutral planets.”

“Do so,” Zayetana turned toward the younger man. “Senya, see if we can call in a favor with the chiss. If Theron’s gone crawling back to them, I want to know.”

“Of course.” Senya bobbed her head.

“I’ll contact Acina and put out an alert.” Zayetana rolled her shoulders back, her head tilting up to the ceiling for a moment, before she started toward the door to the medbay. “Maybe we can salvage this mess that the pair of you have made.”

Quinn started to try to sit up again, but the medical droid stopped him by putting a cold metal hand on his breastbone. “Master, you require rest for the completion of your healing process. Estimated recovery time – two days – “

“ – Fine,” snapped Quinn, irritated at the fact that he couldn’t even assist with the search. He shifted his gaze to his wife’s back, but she said nothing. She simply left the medbay, drawing her personal communicator from a pocket as she walked.

“You owe your Jedi the consideration of a call.” Senya wrapped an arm around Arcann, helping him off the examining table. “She’s worried herself sick about you. What were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?”

“You’re lecturing me and we’re wasting time.” Arcann reached for his undershirt, which had been neatly folded and placed at the end of his examining table, and pulled it on, wincing as he did so. “I regret only that I didn’t kill Shan on sight. Do you have a private room for a holocall?”

“The conference room.” Quinn tugged the blanket up, nearer to his neck. The room suddenly felt colder than before.

Senya and Arcann departed, leaving Quinn alone with his thoughts, and with anger that he didn’t even have a proper outlet for dispersal.


End file.
